


Cold Case: Shuffle

by OzQueen



Category: Cold Case
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Gen, One Shot, Romance, Sexual Content, Shuffle Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten Scotty & Lilly (some Scotty/Lilly) ficlets inspired by ten songs<br/>on my iPod. Taken from a meme on livejournal. Rated for language and one<br/>non-explicit adult scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Case: Shuffle

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hey guys and girls! I'm back with a few quick ficlets. There's a meme going around livejournal at the moment:
> 
> Choose a fandom, pairing or character. Put your iPod on shuffle, and write a ficlet or drabble inspired by that song. Only write until the song finishes - do not linger! (I admit I went back and fixed a few tense changes and spelling errors. At least, I hope I caught them all!) Stop when you've played ten songs and have ten ficlets.
> 
> It was loads of fun to try this for the Cold Case fandom. All of these are based on either Scotty or Lilly - most of the time both of them. I'm not comfortable enough with the other characters yet to write them in such tight restrictions. But this was loads of fun, and actually not as hard as it sounds!
> 
> No laughing at my music taste, now. ;-)

**BADLANDS:** BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN AND THE E STREET BAND [LIVE IN NEW YORK]

Scotty's seen it – he knows. He knows the lost chances; the little last minute decisions that people make and never get to carry out because there are just too many fucked-up things that go wrong. Accidents, murders, enemies. People miss out on a lot of things _nobody_ should miss out on.

Dreams, love.

Nightmares and hate come out of the shadows and cut these things short and Scotty has spent his career listening to these stories. The prices people pay when they have no debt in the first place.

And he knows the chances of his own life being cut too, too short. An accident, maybe. More likely he'll find the wrong end of a gun during one of these fucked-up investigations he wakes up to each day, and he'll be damned if he's going to let another chance slip past him; another regret, another moment he could look back on one day and think, "Shit, maybe I should have done something. Maybe I should have taken a chance when a chance was there to be taken."

So when Lilly fits the lid onto the latest box they've managed to pack away neatly; another _Closed_ with a capital C, he kisses the smile she gives him. The cold air of the storage room seems sucked away and suffocating and he thinks maybe this will be a regret, a bad decision and something that'll leave him with nightmares and an aching gut.

But the smile is still there on her face when Scotty pulls back a little, and he sighs a happy little sigh, and he feels like he's on a rollercoaster, but it's a _good_ feeling.

A feeling of a chance seized.

* * *

 **HEAVENLY DAY:** PATTY GRIFFIN

Some days, everything goes right.

These days don't come often, and Lilly never fails to feel appreciative when one comes her way. She's not big on believing in God, or anything like that, really, but whoever is in charge of days full of sunshine and light breezes and good case results, well... She sends an appreciative thought out into the big wide universe and hopes that whoever deserves it, hears it.

Scotty somehow manages to look smug and pleased whenever one of these days comes by; like he's somehow responsible for it. And Lilly will rightfully credit him for the good case results when he deserves it, but the nice weather isn't really something he can claim.

On one of these afternoons, on one of these perfect, perfect days where everything is right, he sits beside her on the edge of the fountain and they let the breeze waft silvery water mist over them, cooling their warm skin, and he grins at her in that stupidly smug way and she asks him what the hell he's looking so pleased about.

"Sunshine," he says. "White clouds, people being out and about with smiles on their faces."

"You get this look that seems almost boastful," she accuses him. "Like it's your doing."

"Nah," he says, squinting up at the blue sky. "Being smug is just one of my pleasures."

She laughs, and presses her palms against the smooth edge of the fountain.

 _Heavenly days like this do deserve to have all pleasures out in the open_ , she thinks, and her finger brushes against the edge of Scotty's hand.

* * *

 **RUNAWAY:** THE CORRS [TIN TIN OUT REMIX]

There is nothing – nobody – like them, together. A pair.

Lilly knows it's true, deep in her heart, though she tries to tell herself (logically) that she has had great partners before; that they have worked well with her and that they have achieved results together. And results are the important thing in this job. It doesn't always matter how you get there.

But Scotty is different, and Lilly knows it even when she tries to tell herself there's not really anything that special about him; that he _could_ be replaced if things absolutely came down to it, and life would go on and the job would go on and yes, results would still be achieved.

But there is nothing like the two of them together, in shadowy interrogations and bitter-cold mornings full of bones and missing pieces. He says things she has only half thought of, and she says things she doesn't think he'd dare to say.

Sometimes she can be so much harder; so much colder than he is.

Together, there is nothing like she and him.

* * *

 **OLD TIME ROCK AND ROLL:** BOB SEGER

He'd owned a record store in the sixties, or so he said, and Lilly had found herself leaning over the desk, listening to his descriptions of the sun-soaked teenagers coming in off the beach all freckled and tanned, buying records and soundtracks to their summer vacations.

Suddenly she longs for a record collection, something she can line up on shelves, tangible things to remember eras gone by. She spends so many of her hours – days, years – delving back into the past, solving mysteries and reading about other people's lives after they're gone.

Records are the same – days of old, days gone by, crackling around, spilling secrets and memories. As she listens to her witness talk about his old store and the day the poor victim came in to buy a Beatles record, Lilly craves to take a record into her hands and line it up under a diamond tip.

There's something romantic about music being played with a diamond. Something romantic about the crackle, about the lack of perfection that current music offers.

Lilly misses the days of old; the days of imperfection and soul.

* * *

 **SHE'S THE ONE:** ROBBIE WILLIAMS

It's one of those nights where Scotty don't want to be a cop anymore. There's rain lashing at the windows and Philly is lost in a cloud and a storm of rain and wind, and answers ain't comin' to anybody anymore.

The office is lit by desk lamps and the vending machine, and everyone is bent over their desks, silent and miserable 'cos the answers ain't comin', and nobody knows where to go next and when mornin' comes they're gonna have nothin' and someone who don't deserve to walk away will probably walk away.

And the words and the papers in front of him are all blurry and tired and he don't want to do this anymore, he don't want to be a cop with no answers and late rainy nights.

When he looks up from the papers again it's near midnight and Lil is at the desk opposite him and she hasn't moved. Her elbows are perched on the desk and her chin is in her hand and she's frowning down at the lost answers and the lack of clues and the sight of her makes him ache because he realises she's still here too, and she feels the same he does. Still lost, still hopeless and still don't want to be here.

But they're both there together, in the isolated little pools spilling from their desk lamps, and he knows that so long as she stays lookin' for answers, he will too, and damn the amount of time it takes them.

If she's still there lookin' for the clues and the light in those dark nights he hates so much, then he'll stay as well.

* * *

 **TURN ME ON:** NORAH JONES

It's hot. Fans spin and whir slowly, shifting the air but not cooling anything.

Lilly watches Scotty loosen his tie and roll up his sleeves and she closes her eyes, the heat already strengthening her heartbeat, making her more aware of herself. She can smell her own skin.

And Scotty still looks crisp, like not even the heat can melt him, like he's already so heated and self- aware the outside temperature doesn't change anything.

Her heart beats, beats, beats in her chest, and her sweat chills her slightly as the fan blows around and sweeps across her dampened skin.

Scotty glances her way and she averts her eyes quickly, embarrassed about being caught looking at him. Embarrassed when she thinks maybe he knows what she's thinking.

That heat – more heat – is the way to relief.

* * *

 **GOD'S GONNA CUT YOU DOWN:** JOHNNY CASH

It's all Scotty can do to keep himself from punching this guy's face in. He's the worst of the worst, if you ask Scotty, and Scotty doesn't think the justice system is enough for this piece of shit.

He tightens his fist at his side and leans in close; real close. Close enough so that this scum can feel Scotty's breath on his face.

"Watch your back," he hisses softly. "I don't care about no rules, with shit like you."

"Up to you to serve individual justice, is it?" the perpetrator murmurs, a sneer on his face. "I ain't scared of you."

"You should be," Scotty breathes. "You might'a walked away from the handcuffs and a sentence this time, but I'm gonna be watchin' you, and the moment you slip up, I'm gonna have you. Got it?"

There's a short jerk of the head; a small acknowledgement.

And Scotty wipes the sweat from his upper lip and watches his suspect walk away.

* * *

 **IF YOU NEED ME:** SOLOMON BURKE

"Just say hey," Scotty says, and Lilly nods but she doesn't turn to look at him.

And he doesn't touch her, and she wishes he would. She wishes he'd just reach out and touch her shoulder – but at the same time she's glad he hasn't, because she thinks one touch from anybody will send her crumbling; crying.

It won't sink in.

"Really, Lil," Scotty says, and his voice is still soft and awkward, and it's so strange because they both deal with death every day, but this is new and awful and raw.

She wonders why the hell she wasn't more supportive when Elisa died, and then she remembers the bitter hurt of Scotty and Christina.

 _Just say hey,_ he'd said, and she'd nodded and hadn't said anything. And she wishes he'd touch her and she's glad he hasn't.

He turns to go, and she listens to his shoes move across her floor, and she listens to the sound of her front door opening, and suddenly she takes a breath and she says it. She says, "Hey," and her voice cracks even though it's just one syllable.

And he closes the door and sits beside her.

* * *

 **COME GET SOME:** ROOSTER

It had started with a look.

Actually, it had started with much more than that. It had started with Partners, with a Capital P, which meant No Touching, also with capital letters.

And then it had been Christina, which was Definitely A Mistake, and then it was Icy Looks on Lilly's behalf and what was Probably Unjustified Anger on Scotty's behalf.

And then, somehow, it had turned from anger and apologies and guilt to One Little Look that Lilly had given him from beneath her lashes, and he'd gone home with her and he'd pulled that crisp blue shirt right away from her pale skin and curled his fingers over her flesh.

They'd thrust together on the couch, half-dressed, Mostly Naked, and it might have been a mistake, maybe – okay, probably was. Probably Was.

But it was So So Good he didn't want to stop, and she was still looking up at him from beneath her lashes and her teeth were pressing into her lower lip and he wanted to tell her it had Always Been Her, on some unconscious level, even if it Hadn't Ever Seemed Like It.

* * *

 **THIS YEAR'S LOVE:** DAVID GRAY

Lilly had never been lucky in love. Something had always gone wrong. She'd fallen for the wrong guys, or the wrong guys had fallen for her, and nothing had worked out.

Nothing.

Well, some things had worked out, she supposed. Work. Work was her life because work worked out, didn't it? She liked it. It kept her busy and, more importantly, it was an escape, even if she didn't really know what she was escaping from.

Hurt. Maybe.

Work was constant. She knew Scotty would be there, there would be a case and there would be things to do; answers to search for.

Scotty would be there.

And it was hard, anyway, to find a love life when you were a cop. The hours didn't fit into a day properly; it was like her days were longer and darker than others' days, and it was hard to explain that, sometimes.

And it was hard to explain Scotty, because when she went with him, his life was in her hand and hers was in his, and they had to work with that between them. It was protection and faith she'd never share with anyone else. You didn't go home to someone you love with fear in your throat and the adrenaline of blood and life in your veins. Did you?

She may as well be married to him, she thought sometimes, and there was an edge of something bitter-sweet there, like they were married in some weird, strange way that couldn't be explained. He was her partner, and he had her life in a way that nobody else would ever come close to.

And that was hard to explain, and that was why nothing else had ever lasted.


End file.
